


You're so damn beautiful

by the_consequences (yuggie_yuggie)



Series: My liege, forever bathed in sugar [1]
Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Unrequited Love, yeah but from who? i can't say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:48:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27709292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuggie_yuggie/pseuds/the_consequences
Summary: Calroy just wants to call Amethar his sweetheart, just this once.
Relationships: Calroy Cruller & Donetta Cruller, Calroy Cruller/Amethar Rocks
Series: My liege, forever bathed in sugar [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2042632
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	You're so damn beautiful

Plans that have been made for years and years and years feel hard to throw away. Calroy has involved too many people, far too many, and now? It's too late. It's not the time to get cold feet, especially with such a perfect opportunity before him. Amethar, of the House of Rocks, is a criminal of the church and has cost the concord its peace - no one will fault him for killing his king now.

Calroy doesn't tell anyone what he plans to do, not really, at least not to people who have reached out to him on their own prerogative. He scoffs, thinking of the pontifex. Religion, no religion, none of that matters in the face of power. He can worry about his death after his death, and right now, if he doesn't act that might be sooner than he planned.

His soldiers are more or less aware of who's orders they should listen to, and while he tries to tell himself it's because you can never tell who might have loose lips, he knows it's not. He's giving himself a way out. And for that reason Donetta must not know either.

She frets, like a good highborn lady when her husband is worrying, but does not bother him. She knows enough. How could she not? They've been together for thirty-odd years now, and friends for even longer. She's his best friend, strangely, even as she knows he married her for the sake of convenience and power, even as she knows his heart was cold on the altar. Perhaps she's simply glad she didn't marry a violent man; he's indifferent, not hurtful, not purposely.

Donetta hands him a large chalice of cola and sits next to him. Their chambers have always been cold, as is the rest of Candia; they can't risk the slightest chance of melting. 

"The Dairy-Islanders have sent word. Captain Annabelle Cheddar should be sailing them up the Cola River as we speak."

Calroy takes a deep breath. His face doesn't change, but he can feel his eyes twitch. "When did you receive news?"

"About an hour past, but it was sent a week ago." She sips from her own glass and Calroy can hear the cola dissolving part of her throat as she drinks. He knows it will grow back, but it's never any less terrifying to imagine. She looks at him the way she always does, with careful consideration and a deep hurt at what he must do. "Cal-"

"Don't. Don't call me that." He might break.

She doesn't comment. "Must you go through with this?"

Calroy thinks, carefully. His automatic response is to blurt out a 'yes', or something along those lines that will ease her worries, but he's suddenly tired. Age is catching up to him. "It feels wrong to not," he settles on. "It feels...it feels like I've done so much already. How can I give that up?" 

The old excuse of 'kill or be killed', or even 'they'll find out eventually so I have to eliminate that possibility entirely' feels more like excuses now, and less like genuine risk. Such an old habit, the mind-set of a warrior is hard to shake off, but he should be at least honest with himself-

"But do you want to?"

"Yes," he repeats.

-though maybe not so honest to others.

"Do you?"

Donetta is a frail woman, sick during the winter more often than not, never as sweet and kind as her sisters but understanding. She's always been painfully understanding. To the degree where she's so accepting of everything Calroy confesses to planning, that he wonders if he broke her somewhere along the way. She barely batted and eyelash to them killing the Rocks sisters, even pointing out alibis that he could use as if she were commenting on the weather. It's almost saddening, to converse with a shell.

But she is right, as she always is. She may not be able to feel much but she can sense it in others. Calroy knows she knows he knows he doesn't want to go through with this, but his pride will not allow him.

So he confirms what they already know, - "Yes." - that he is a liar.

And the cola doesn't even hurt when he throws it back. Nothing matters when he has something to plan.

* * *

Calroy can almost weep at the very sight of Amethar coming across the bridge. He looks worse for wear, haggard, but whole and invigorated and-

No. Not right now. There will time at his funeral.

"Now those are some nice pants." Amethar whistles lowly, and on anyone else it would be disgusting but Calroy can't see that. He only sees the attention he craves. And soon, he promises himself, he will have that attention from all of Candia, all of Calorum if he has his way.

_But it won't be from him, you idiot. He'll be six feet under._

Calroy hides his face in Amethar's shoulder and cries for the hole he has dug himself into; he lets Amethar convince him the tears are happier.

* * *

Amethar talks when he can. He likes talking, loudly, and while Calroy can say he finds it annoying, what does it matter now? He's going to miss this. 

Amethar's rambling on and on about something or another, troop movements for a while, then onto Lapin's brilliant displays, then somberness at the very same man's death, then back to "war guy stuff" as he likes to put it. Calroy's heart squeezes when Amethar's voice softens - he's remembering Lapin's sacrifice. Calroy selfishly wishes that in another life, if Calroy had died for him, that Amethar would weep and live on as a husk, never again feeling joy in his absence.

If he had his way, his last dying thought would be of Calroy.

They've stopped. Calroy wonders when they've stopped, when they got high enough, far away from everyone else, far and perfect and...oh. It's happening.

He pulls out a gleaming, water-steel dagger. It shines in the moonlight, like molten sugar. His hands shake uncontrollably, but Amethar's back is turned and all he has to do is plunge it in, just to the hilt. It's so simple; Amethar might never even know. But maybe that's it, he tries to tell himself, he wants his king to remember him forever in death, and that's why he waits.

Yeah. That's it.

Amethar points at some tents and says something. Calroy can't hear, the buzz in his ears too loud, too fast, but it must've been a question because soon Amethar repeats what he says, then sooner after that he turns. He looks confused, but he looks so fucking gorgeous in the moonlight Calroy feels weak in the knees.

"Cal?" he whispers, soft as ever. "Are you okay?"

Calroy wants to sob. How dare he be so concerned? Amethar knows what the dagger looks like! Amethar should be yelling, accusing him of everything, biting away at his flesh until nothing is left, not this. Not this, never this. He can't take _sweetness,_ not from his king. He wants to recite the line he's been practising for ages now, during meaningless conversations and sleepless nights, but it's hard. He chokes - he wonders if it's cola or bile. "Amethar...can I call you sweetheart?" he blurts out, voice trembling.

"What? Cal, you're not making-"

"Please," Calroy begs. He drops the dagger and it clangs to the ground, dissolving into the ground almost immediately. "Just let me."

The weight behind that name is not unknown to the both of them. It's a promise of eternal devotion, one that the rest of Calorum will never appreciate and tend to use as a simple, plebian petname, but they know. And yet, Amethar, the fool, the fucking gorgeous fool he is, nods.

Calroy rushes forward. He's lost the dagger and there's no point now. He holds onto Amethar, gripping onto his cloak, sobbing into his breastplate, leaving messy, open-mouthed kisses where-ever he can. His tears eat away at his frosting, but his pain eats away at his chest. He can't breathe. He can't breathe unless Amethar lets them stay like this.

"Cal...oh, Cal." Amethar doesn't pull him away, but he knows. He knows this was meant to be an assassination attempt. The small fact that Calroy isn't dead yet gives him sick satisfaction.

"I'm so sorry. I thought I could-I thought I wanted this, but I can't. I can't, I just-"

"I could've loved you forever, Cal." His voice is rough, so, so different to Donetta and her softness, so full of emotion it makes Calroy drunk. "Why didn't you just ask?"

But he did, he did, he did, and...the fact that Calroy could have gotten what he wanted whenever he wanted doesn't escape him.

"Because I hate you," he whispers like a confession to his sins. And it is. "I hate how weak you make me, and I hate everything you represent. You have everything I ever wanted."

"I'm sorry," Amethar whispers back, cradling him ever so gently. "I'm sorry I never noticed, Cal. I'm sorry I never noticed your pain, but I love you."

Calroy doesn't have an answer for that because the next thing he knows, Payment Day is plunged into his back. Sugary blood, molten, hot, hotter than he's been in a while, spills down his back. He gasps, but Amethar only holds him closer. Calroy wonders, again, in his addled mind whether Amethar will remember this.

 _Yes, yes he will,_ his mind provides. It's wishful, but he'll take what he can get.

"I love you, my liege," Calroy says, grinning as blood bubbles in his throat. Strange, this hurts less than their cola, less obtrusive, almost as if it's meant to happen. "I hope I've s-" he chokes "-served you well."

"You have, Cal, you have. And I love you too."

Calroy Cruller is a rogue, and will forever be a rogue. He knows when people are lying to him.

Amethar Rocks has only ever loved one person from the Dairy-Islands, and it isn't a slice of cake with pants on.

He doesn't have to dwell on this betrayal, because the sun is rising, and he only has time to wonder if Amethar would still hold him so gently if he knows what's happening to his daughters right at the moment.

He only wishes, with a chuckle, that he had a chance to shit in front of him one last time.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Strength to Speak](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27734869) by [Osiria_Rose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Osiria_Rose/pseuds/Osiria_Rose)




End file.
